When a man becomes a father, he does one of two things: he puts everything into it or nothing at all. When a man becomes a father, everything else disappears. When a man becomes a father, he does everything for his family. When a man becomes a father, he thinks, works, and lives for his family – until he cannot.  

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This father has done everything for his family, just like he was supposed to, and more. But even for the best fathers, there comes a time when they cannot do everything anymore. They continue to do their best for their family, but they must take care of themselves now too.  

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In the dark of a winter evening, a father climbs the final flight of stairs into his favorite room in the house. Upon entering the dimly lit room, he takes a seat on his stool, picks up his guitar, and begins to strum. As the delicate tune starts to fill the night sky, the father looks around the room, reflecting on all the little things that he had collected over the years. Behind him on the carpeted floor stands a wobbly old desk with a functional soundboard and the oldest computer in existence (according to his children). The chill night breeze flows in from the open window behind the desk, and the strings of the father’s other guitars begin to hum with the wind. Deep in the closet opposite the desk, there are boxes and boxes of files and memorabilia, but this father is not a hoarder. He holds on to what is most important to him, which is why he is a father. As a father, he shares even his most valued space with his children, even now that they are grown, which is why his son’s rickety old drum set takes up most of the room. Microphones line the middle of the room, untouched after years of use, because the father misses the sound of his daughter’s delicate voice ringing through the walls of their home. When his children grow and venture out into the world, a father is left to wonder if the absence of his children are the cause of his pain, or if it had been there all along, repressed by the sound of their spirited giggles and sibling bickering. This father is left to wonder as he ganders at his collection of old bobble heads of his favorite band members, which line the shelves on the deep green walls, along with autographed records from this same band. After what seems like no time at all, the bobbleheads begin to shiver in the night breeze, so the father reaches up to close the window. The father gently places his guitar back on its stand and turns off the gangly lamp above him, leaving him alone with his mind in the darkness. Before a moment of peace is ruined by the question of whether he will conquer his internal hardships, he decides to descend the tall, carpeted stairs which muffle his footsteps, to face the more manageable external hardships that are fatherhood. The faint strumming of the other guitars continues to ring in his ears as his wife calls him to their lonely dinner.  

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The father and his wife eat dinner at their rickety kitchen table, sitting across from each other with two empty chairs between them in the dim light of evening. The wife asks the father about his day. When a mother asks a father about his day, she is expecting a short response with a quick follow-up of the same question, along with an attentive reaction to her description of yet another horrible day. So, this father does what he is supposed to, and tells his wife his day was fine, then proceeds to ask her about her day. Thus, the wife tells him in great detail about the dramatic events of her day, from kindergarten squabbles to reckless and inconsiderate drivers who do not know how to use their blinker. The father listens, as fathers do, and validates every emotion she describes and agrees with every judgement she makes. The father and his wife finish their dinner, and the wife criticizes herself for eating too much while the father begins to do the dishes. The father answers every comment with reassurance that she is not and never has been overweight, and that she should stop saying those things because look what it did to their daughter. The wife grumbles in agreement and journeys to the couch to prop up her aching feet. The father puts away the clean dishes and follows his wife to the living room, where they mindlessly watch television to pass the time. Before the moon is high enough to light the sky, the mother goes to bed, leaving the father alone in the immense emptiness that was the rest of the house. With his wife in bed, the father can finally watch something that interests him, something that he can discuss with his children, and something that will take his mind off the lingering tumor that lies within. 

 

When a man becomes a father, he receives extremely limited amounts of alone time. On the odd chance that a father does receive alone time, he cherishes every minute of it. Likewise, this father takes his time going to bed, relishing his alone time. After minutes turn into hours, the father decides it is time to nod off for the night, just to do it all over again tomorrow. When a man becomes a father, he must have a schedule, and that schedule must revolve around everyone else’s needs, as opposed to his own. This father is like any other in that he goes to bed, wakes up, goes to work, comes home for dinner, then goes to bed and so on. The only difference between this father and others is the genuine love he has for his family, which is the one thing that can interrupt his schedule. Most fathers either love or act like they love, but this father is capable of both, which is why he awaits a needy phone call from one or more of his family members each day. One day it will be his wife, asking what he would like for dinner or having an anxiety attack about anything and everything. Another day it will be his son, asking a financial question or offering a movie recommendation for the father’s lonely nights. And another day it will be his daughter, calling from her school that is three hours from home, begging for support and encouragement to continue learning and breathing. This father loves being a father, and he cherishes the sound of his family’s voices, no matter what pains their company may bring. 

 

The thing about being a father is that, when a man becomes a father, no one asks him what it is like to be a father. They may ask how his children are, how work is going, when he will retire, how his wife is doing, if his mother is well, when he is coming to visit, etc. But when a man becomes a father, no one asks how he is feeling until they discover some issue of physical health, because only a physical health concern could affect a man once they become a father. When a man becomes a father, no one asks how he feels about the tumor, if he is scared, if he misses his children, or if he needs help. When a man becomes a father, people no longer pay attention to the man but only the father, or his duties as such. A father is not scared or sick or helpless. When a man becomes a father, he loses his humanity, not because he feels nothing, but because everyone expects him to. When a man becomes a father, they are strong and hopeful, and they provide for their family. When a man becomes a father, who provides for him?